


Coming Clean

by gingerteaandsympathy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Communication, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Laundry, Post-Episode: s02e04 The Girl in the Fireplace, The Doctor (Doctor Who) is an Idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerteaandsympathy/pseuds/gingerteaandsympathy
Summary: Post-GitF, the Doctor and Rose have a much-needed discussion about their relationship while waiting for her laundry.





	Coming Clean

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to write way too late at night, so please forgive any mistakes or typos. They're the result of sleep deprivation.

**Coming Clean**

The thing about time travel, I've found, is that once you've started, you tend to want to skip to the interesting bits. The mundane becomes almost cripplingly boring when you are aware that it's possible to avoid it. In fact, it's almost an irrepressible urge in every conversation - to jump past all the small-talk and dig into the meat of things. Waiting in lines outside the ladies' at a club becomes unbearable, really, or lines at banks or amusement parks. You find yourself reading the end of the book before you've even gotten to the middle, and you undeniably fast-forward through the boring bits of movies.

Like it or not, your whole life - no matter whether you're jumping ahead or jumping backwards - starts to play out like a race. But the rest of the world insists on slow motion, despite you. It's rather infuriating, when you think about it.

Which, I supposed, was one explanation for why the Doctor was being so snippy today.

"I just don't see why we have to _wait around_  while your washing is going," he moaned, watching the way the technicolor fabrics swirled behind the glass, soapy suds splashing about. His eyes followed the circular movements in a way that would have made me dizzy. "Can't we just leave it and pop off to Alapucia, see the mirrored Glasmir mountains, and be back in time for tea - or, well, for your washing to be done?"

"Doctor, if I can wait for you on a cannibal space ship for five bloody hours, you can certainly wait two for my clothes to be cleaned."

I suppose he wasn't the only one who was feeling snippy today.

"Rose," he whinged, "that was ages ago, you can't possibly still be angry!" His long legs bobbed up and down as his feet tapped madly against the linoleum, one of his knees occasionally bumping my thigh.

I couldn't help glaring at him, as well as slapping a hand onto his knee to stop the insane fidgeting. He nearly flew out of his seat in surprise, his eyes jumping to me, round as the glass windows of the washers around us. _Jumpy_. But his knees did stop wiggling, so that was good.

"It was less than forty-eight hours ago."

"Oh." A less observant woman might have taken his subdued tone as a sign of him feeling properly chastened. But I knew the Doctor - man of many moods, rarely one of them repentant. "Well, I just don't see how you humans manage to hold grudges so long," he sniffed, scuffing his sneaker on the floor. "It's bad for the health."

I tried not to roll my eyes. This, coming from the man who had more arch-enemies than I had hair on my head? Rich.

"Maybe it is, but you didn't seem overly worried about my health when you _abandoned me in the 51st century_ , Doctor."

He huffed. "I didn't abandon you. I always knew I'd find my way back. What, you think I'd just abandon the only TARDIS left in the universe to rot? Not bloody likely!" His laugh was biting.

I noticed his exclusion of Mickey and I from his rescue motivations and took a steadying breath. _Wanker._

"You take risks, you know, with other people's lives," I continued, quietly now, trying to train my eyes on the spinning clothes so I didn't have to meet his gaze. "I suppose I've kind of... forfeited my right to complain by choosing this life. I don't regret it, really. I expect a certain amount of danger. But Mickey was there, too. My oldest mate. And _you_ let him come, Doctor, without explaining the risks. He could have died, in the future, on a derelict spaceship, all because he wanted to look brave!"

"Well, that's his own fault!" The Doctor snapped.

I had always hated this incarnation's tendency towards peevishness, though I suppose the hair was a good trade-off. The hair and the freckles. _And the bum._ I held back a sigh. Yes, the bum was well worth this infuriating discussion.

"Maybe it is. But he's a 23-year-old kid from the bloody estate, Doctor."

The Time Lord did another sniffing-type-sound that made me want to smack him until all the stars in the sky would look like the print of my palm. "I fail to see your point."

"My _point_  is that you're a 900-year-old alien  _git_ who ought to know better," I sniped. "You just waltz into things and you don't think that maybe people aren't ready or able to... I dunno, waltz along with you!"

"When did this become about dancing?" He asked. He seemed genuinely confused, which finally pulled a heaving sigh out of me.

"It's not about dancing," I cried, throwing my hands in the air. "It's about how you treat people. You leave us behind, assuming we'll be fine! But sometimes, Doctor, we're not.  _Sometimes_ we spend five bleeding hours holding back our tears and trying to be strong for... someone who has never traveled outside of _London_ , let alone outside of time. And sometimes, we have to try to rip open the TARDIS _again_ , because we don't want to die on some heap of space junk, and we've realized that our _only ride home_ is shagging his way through the French court! And then we can't even manage to negotiate with her telepathically, because we're too busy worrying about you and Madame de _bloody_  Pompadour to think straight!"

I took in an enormous gulp of air and then exhaled slowly, trying to catch my breath.

"I expect a certain amount of danger, not certainty of death because you're flirting. That's my point."

"That seems... highly specific to one particular circumstance, Rose." The Doctor said, but his tone wasn't critical, only quiet. His face was dejected.

"You left me, Doctor. Do you understand what that means? You left me _to die_."

He tried to wave it off, but we both saw that the effort was weak. "You're clever, you'd have made it out."

I crossed my arms. "Okay, Time Lord, deduce with me. Suppose I had made contact with the Heart of the TARDIS again, talked her into flying. What then?"

"You could have gone home! And I'd have met you there eventually, only going the slow way 'round."

I shook my head. "Only I'd have the vortex inside of me again, burning me up. No guarantee of a Time Lord to kiss it better. You'd have no idea of when and where we landed. So, I'd be dead in under an hour. Next."

The Doctor cleared his throat. "You could have survived on the TARDIS for a good, long time while you waited for me to get back."

"For hundreds of years? While you took the-- what did you call it? 'Slow way 'round'? We'd die of old age before you got anywhere near us. Next."

"Rose--"

"Next," I snapped.

He was tense on his seat, and he spoke through gritted teeth. "You could have just come to get me and I would have dealt with the Reapers."

"Like last time?" I replied sharply. "Where you died? And someone else had to die to fix it? Who would it have been, I wonder. Mickey? Nah, he's not that brave. Maybe it would have been your girlfriend, Reinette, but we all know you'd never let that happen. Or, maybe, Doctor," I seethed, "it would have been me. Dead. Next."

"Rose," he ground out, glaring at the floor, "this is a pointless exercise. I made it back to you in less than a day. And you're determined to be angry with me, so I don't see the point in you forcing me to justify myself." He was leaning his elbows on his knees now, his chin propped on his clasped hands. "And Reinette was never my bloody... girlfriend; don't be petty." He seemed to cringe around the word "girlfriend" like it had a bad taste.

"I have a right to be petty or angry or both," I replied. The words hurried past my lips without my permission. "I'll get over it eventually, because I love you and I love traveling with you and I won't give it up. But damn it, Doctor, let me be angry at you for breaking my trust and leaving me to die. Just let me be angry for a little while longer."

He didn't answer. The laundry twisted and swirled, the rhythmic _thunk-a-thunk_  of wet fabric filled our silence.

I was suddenly grateful it was four in the morning and nobody else was here. Our conversation would have sounded mad, ranting about spaceships and Madame de Pompadour.

"You remember the kissing, then?" His voice interrupted my thoughts.

"What?"

"The vortex. The kissing."

I arched a brow. "The 'I think you need a Doctor' line? Yeah, I remember."

He squinted at me, his brown eyes suddenly looking very weary. "You shouldn't. It was supposed to go with everything else you learned when you looked into the Heart of the TARDIS."

"Well, it didn't."

He suddenly reminded me very much of his former self when he paused and then, helplessly, replied, "Ah."

We fell back into silence.

"You... love me?" Once again, he was very intently not meeting my eyes.

I stared at him like he was mad, which he was.

"Of course I do."

"You shouldn't."

I shrugged. "I know. Still do, though. It's why I can't leave."

He cleared his throat. "I... _well_ , I... that is, on Gallifrey, we don't... and I've never... well, and really, Rose, I'm old enough to be your father. Grandfather. Great grandfather. Great great great great great great-- ah, well, you get the idea."

I'd gone through all of this before. First, in my head. And then, with my mum. Often.

"I know."

"And we've already done the bit about how I'll outlive you and we'd never truly have a forever together?"

"Yep," I replied, cheerfully popping the 'p.'

Again, "Ah."

 _Thunk-a-thunk, thunk-a-thunk._  Round and round we went. Orbiting. Always orbiting, never landing. This was no different.

He rushed out, "And you're sure it's not a platonic sort of love? Or perhaps a misplaced crush? Or maybe it's the result of the mutually shared trauma of nearly dying together dozens of times, like war veterans?"

I glared at him. "Doctor, shut up."

"Right."

He went quiet again. I heard a siren pass by outside. One of the flourescent lights flickered overhead and I realized how much I hated laundromats. I'd just ask him to install a washer and dryer unit on the TARDIS, that's what I'd do.

I wondered how he kept his clothes so clean. Over a year and I'd never thought to ask. I'd just assumed he sonicked them or something.

If he'd had a washer and dryer this entire time, I decided, I'd kill him.

"Rose, we're not even the same species!" he suddenly burst out, his hands raking through his hair.

"I know!" I cried. "Don't you think I know? I bloody well know that you're an alien! You couldn't be more alien if you were a cat in a fucking wimple!"

"Well, maybe you're alien to me, too," he replied. He sounded so very tired.

Something seemed to lodge in my throat. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not."

I reached out, touched his arm. "So we're both aliens, then. I don't care. You have to know that it doesn't matter."

"Of course you don't care. You're human. Universal adapters, you lot." He sighed. "Time Lords... and Gallifreyans in general, I suppose... we don't... interbreed. Or we didn't. It wasn't done."

I managed to make a noise that hopefully passed for a laugh. "Bit xenophobic, innit?"

"Quite," he nodded seriously. Then he paused. "I guess I just never considered it as a... viable option. An appealing one, certainly, but not realistic."

"What, being with an alien?"

He looked over at me, eyes wide and a bit frightened. "Being with you."

I swallowed. Now it was my turn to say, "Ah."

"I mean, surely you know that I'm all talk when it comes to these things," he rushed out. "It's a social buffer, or a necessary method of ingratiating myself with humans. Like Reinette. How else am I, a thousand-year-old alien, supposed to communicate with a eighteenth century French courtesan? She practically _invented_ flirting."

"Doctor, are you... apologizing?" I asked, trying to hide my smile.

Defensive, he cried, "No! I'm explaining."

I stifled a laugh. "Of course. Well, I appreciate the... explanation."

"I'm saying, Rose," his voice was frustrated, "that I get carried away with things sometimes. I flirt with women I'm not interested in. I make stupid choices. I put people in danger. Mickey. You. And I probably won't ever be able stop doing that, because it's just sort of how I am, and I can't help it, and if we're going to be together, you need to accept that I'm an idiot."

Now I was earnestly suppressing the impulse to burst into giggles. "Great big alien git. Trust me, I accept it."

He wore a sort of half-hearted grin as he replied, "Well, good. I'll try to be less... cavalier with your life in the future." He slid his palm into mine. "But you also need to know that there's nothing in this universe that can keep me away from you. I'll _always_ find a way back, I promise."

His fingers felt cool, and solid. Like the world could shift and he'd remain where he was, with his hand in mine. The Doctor talked a lot of nonsense, but I couldn't help believing him right now, in this moment. His eyes were sincere and his face so intent.

I felt myself getting sucked into the black holes of his pupils and tried to reinstate some balance, before he could get uncomfortable. "'Course you will," I grinned. "You'll always need a hand to hold. And I've got the softest skin in the time traveling biz. It's that 32nd century hand cream." 

His smile had widened in synchrony with mine, and relief filled my chest. I couldn't bear us being out of step with one another.

"Better with two?" He said softly.

I nodded, dropping my head to his shoulder. "Better with two."

Silence fell once again - this one of a more comfortable kind.

"Rose?"

"Hm?"

"Can I kiss you?" His voice was hushed, muffled by my hair and his no-doubt swirling thoughts.

I pulled back from him so I could look up into his face. The Doctor looked the same as he always did, if a bit more tired - freckles dusting his cheeks, bottom lip in a soft pout, and eyes a thousand miles deep. My favorite face in all the universe.

I realized I hadn't answered. "Yes, Doctor," I replied. My voice sounded husky in my own ears.

He seemed to hesitate before letting his lips fall to mine, soft and smooth. Slow. Intent. We hung, suspended on a breath, his bottom lip cupping mine. It was a kiss held in suspension - waiting for something to act on it, waiting for it grow into something else. But neither of us felt any need to rush forward, so we let it hang, deliciously, for a moment. Slowly, his hand crept up to touch my cheek. His cool palm sent a shiver through me.

Suddenly, the washer buzzed it's completion, causing us to jump apart. When I looked up into his face, the pupils were dilated and his bottom lip was tinged slightly pink, his mouth open. He looked surprised and a bit ruffled, and it was the most perfect thing I'd ever seen.

I couldn't help the giggle that sprung out of my lips. Before he could compose himself, I had jumped up to tend to the laundry. I rushed to push everything into the dryer so I could get back to him and this newfound delight that was kissing the Doctor.

When I sat back down, I immediately relaxed against his shoulder and the Doctor pressed a kiss to my hair. I had no idea how many hours it had been since I last slept, and the fatigue had settled into my bones. But for now, I was content to sit with my alien under the grim fluorescents, just letting time roll past us in rhythm with the swish of churning laundry. 

Sometimes, it was nice not to fast-forward through the middle. Sometimes, the slow path could be rather perfect, if you had the right companion. 

As my eyes drifted shut, the Doctor whispered, "Does that mean we get to leave Mickey behind? Nobody said anything about 'better with three'."

I grinned, eyes opening to glance up at him. "I _knew_  you were bringing him to be a prick."

He shrugged. "I thought a bit of distance would be good. I was wrong. Like I said," he pointed to himself, "idiot."

"My alien idiot," I said, unable to repress how cheerful I felt.

He sighed, and I could practically feel him rolling his eyes. But then he planted a quick kiss on my nose. "Yes, _your_  alien idiot. So?"

My eyes closed again, feeling very, very heavy. "We can talk to him about it tomorrow. For now, tell me a story, Doctor."

He grinned against my hair. "Did I ever tell you about the Cybermen?"

And I fell asleep to rain on the windows and tales of how my Doctor had saved the universe. Whether our path would be fast or slow, long or short, I knew I wouldn't spend it with anyone other than him.

**Author's Note:**

> This can be treated as a Doomsday fix-it (in which they never go to the parallel universe, ever) or as some foreshadowing for what's to come. Depends on whether you're the hopeful sort or not.


End file.
